


do you like your reflection?

by therealricekrispies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst in the middle, Best Friends, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, M/M, Trans Kenma, What exactly is established is unclear but it is indeed established, a fluffy start and end, questioning gender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealricekrispies/pseuds/therealricekrispies
Summary: Kuroo can tell when Kenma is hiding something. This just happens to be a bigger secret than he was expecting.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 18
Kudos: 185





	do you like your reflection?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first piece for this fandom, so I'm a little nervous about posting it, but I figured a one-shot may be a good place to start :)
> 
> Side note: this is categorized as M/M, but just due to the source material!
> 
> TW for mild internalized transphobia/transphobic language.

“Kuroo, your rib is poking me.”

“Hm? Oh, sorry.” Kuroo shifted his torso and Kenma wiggled himself into a more comfortable position. He sighed contentedly, resuming his game. Kuroo grinned, the even rise and fall of Kenma’s breath lulling him into a trance.

Kuroo was lying on his back, tossing a volleyball higher and higher, like he was daring it to punch a hole in the ceiling. Kenma was using his stomach as a pillow. They had been like this for hours. Or, Kenma had been. Kuroo was watching television, then he was sleeping. Now he was tossing.

This was their routine every Friday. After practice, Kenma would call his mom to say he was headed over to Kuroo’s. Then they’d stop by the convenience store and pick up snacks. Kenma would bury his face in his game while Kuroo kept a steady arm on his shoulder, guiding him out of the way of passing cars and bicyclists. Occasionally, Kenma let out a small grunt or gasp in response to his avatar. By this point, Kuroo could tell exactly what had occurred based on his pitch, intensity, and the sound's duration. 

The one thing Kuroo couldn't tell was what was being played.

Kenma was wildly protective of his phone. If Kuroo tried to peer over his shoulder or let his eyes wander near the screen, Kenma would yank it out of sight or elbow Kuroo in the ribs. And as much as Kuroo respected privacy, he was starting to get _really_ damn curious.

The more time they spent together, the more his mind, body, spiritual essence, etc. became engrossed in the mystery. He just wanted a peek. A glance. A gander, if you will. Teeny-tiny. In between tosses, he flitted his eyes down to Kenma's fingers, tap-tap-tapping away at the screen, but could never quite make out what was happening.

 _Toss_. There was a lot of blue. 

_Toss_. Everything moved so fast, he didn't know how Kenma wasn't dizzy.

 _Toss._ Oh, something pink...?

A moment too long and the ball returned to an unprepared Kuroo and he gagged when it hit him square in the trachea. 

Kenma craned his neck back to glare at Kuroo, who raised his arms in feigned innocence. The bony blow to his gut was probably deserved. Grinning despite himself, Kuroo placed his hands behind his head and sunk back into the pillow. He casually flexed his feet to the tinny 8-bit tune playing through the phone speaker.

Kenma gasped. Kuroo didn’t bother raising his head when he asked, “New item?”

“Mhm,” he answered. Kenma's mind was already far away.

Kuroo slipped an arm out from under him and let it plop upon Kenma's head. His hair was soft under his fingertips, brushing along from roots to ends and catching on tangles as he did. He eased them out with light tugs and teases. It was especially bad toward the tips. Kuroo used to insist that Kenma trim the frayed parts, but the latter always refused. “Too much hassle,” he would say. Kuroo would just shrug and return to brushing out the tangles. 

A sharp inhale told him that Kenma had lost the round. He gave his friend a comforting pat on the head and waited for the cheery tune to resume. It didn't. The room grew eerily still – even the rhythm of Kenma's breath had vanished.

“Hm, what’s up?” Kuroo asked, lifting his head from the pillow.

Kenma had sat up and was staring at his lap, unfocused. A distorted reflection blinked back at him from the dark phone screen. He was rolling his lips in and out of his mouth, biting at the chapped bits. His breath was relegated to quick puffs in and out his nose.

“Your cousin is a girl, right?”

“As far as I know.”

 _Interesting conversation topic._ Kuroo rubbed the back of his head and yawned, suddenly exhausted – maybe tossing for half an hour straight wasn’t the best idea. He stretched his sore arms and legs out to their fullest extent, toes reaching beyond the bed frame. He waited for Kenma to continue the conversation. He waited until he was thoroughly stretched and waited some more after relaxing. Instead, Kenma's gaze fell back to his screen, the mirror-Kenma scrutinizing himself through narrow lids. 

After a thorough staring contest, he dropped his phone into the comforter and drew his legs into his chest, chin resting on bruised knees. Kuroo pushed himself up to a seat and scooted behind Kenma. He placed his hands on the setter's shoulders. Beneath them, Kenma shivered, his pulse thundering so violently that Kuroo half-feared he would have a heart attack.

Kuroo gave Kenma's shoulders a gentle squeeze – _I noticed_ , it said. Kenma let out a long sigh. He tilted his head back, sinking into Kuroo’s grip. His body jerked with each inhale, shuddered every exhale. 

“What’s on your mind?”

Another shiver passed beneath his fingers and Kuroo felt like someone was digging chicken-wire into his lungs. Kenma began to tug at his fingers one-by-one. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing under his taut skin.

“Do you like your reflection?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

_Huh?_

Kuroo's grip slackened for a moment. “Yeah. It’s not perfect, but in general, I’m pretty happy with it.” When Kenma didn’t respond he added, “Do you not?”

There was a pause, then Kenma shook his head. “It scares me.”

Kuroo stared. Had he heard that correctly? He wanted to ask again but his throat felt like sandpaper. Unable to formulate a meaningful reply, Kuroo more vigorously rubbed away at the tension along Kenma’s back and neck. He gave a firm push to the hunched shoulders at his ears and worked out every single knot on the way back down.

Kenma’s breaths began to even out; not as deep as usual, but no longer spastic and thin. He squirmed under Kuroo’s grip. “That’s starting to hurt,” he said, plucking Kuroo's hands from his shoulders.

Kuroo swung his legs around so that they hung off the side of the bed beside Kenma’s. Besides a rumple of bedsheets, nothing was separating them. And yet, Kuroo felt so distant from the boy sitting next to him. A few times, Kenma cleared his throat like he was about to speak, but no sound came out. Maybe his throat was also sandpapery. Kuroo wondered if he should go get them some water.

The door was suddenly slammed open and both boys nearly jumped out of their skins.

“Tetsurou, do you– oh! Kozume-san, sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.” Kuroo’s cousin, Sayaka, was standing in the doorway, all smiles and no guilt from barging in. 

“What do you want, Sayaka?”

“Chill with the tone, dude. I was gonna ask if you had any sunblock. I’m heading out with some friends.”

Kenma’s hand tightened around a fistful of sheets, unintentionally digging his knuckles into Kuroo’s thighs.

“I do, but I'm not sure I want to give it to you.”

"I'm leaving in a week, don't be a bitch." 

Kuroo rolled his eyes. With a sigh, he rose from the bed and sauntered over to his dresser. He opened the second drawer from the top where he stored items otherwise lacking a home – also known as "the fuckery drawer." There was a rather uncomfortable sixty seconds of rifling before, at last, he withdrew a small bottle of SPF 80 and tossed it to Sayaka. She caught it with ease.

"You're a vampire, aren't you?" She smirked, examining the label.

"You know it, goblin." 

Sayaka stuck her tongue out. "Don't burn the house down, you two!" she called, waving as she shut the door behind her. Kuroo's eye twitched.

Kuroo turned his attention back to the cocoon on his bed. Sayaka's appearance had done nothing for Kenma's mood. He sniffed hard through his nose, swiping a sleeve over it when it dripped. It dripped a lot.

Kuroo leaned back, the dresser groaning under his weight. “Kenma, you don’t need to hide things from me. You know I’m not gonna judge you.”

“I know.”

“Then talk to me. What’s going on?”

Kenma’s knuckles whitened. A thin line split the space between his brows and he sucked his bottom lip back between his teeth. It was like when he was choosing who would spike his final toss. Before he acted, he had to calculate possible outcomes, roll them over his tongue.

“I don’t think I’m a guy.”

It took a second for the words to register. He blinked at the bundle of blankets and red and black and blonde upon his bed and his mind was completely blank.

“O-okay, cool,” was all he could get out. He racked his brain for any kind of reference. _What was the word? Trans… Gender? Transgender?_ Kuroo had read about it somewhere in a magazine. An American athlete was saying that they were born in the wrong body; a stranger in her own skin. At least, he thought so – his memory wasn’t serving him well at the moment. Dammit, why didn’t he pay more attention to what he was reading?

“So, wha–uh, what are you?” Kenma flinched at the question and Kuroo cursed himself internally. “Sorry!” he covered, pinching his nose bridge so hard it left a red mark. “That sounded so shitty. I uh… What do you think you’d be, then?”

_In what world was that a better question?_

Kenma nibbled at his nail as he considered. “I'm not sure.”

As he stared, his vision finally starting to focus again, Kuroo noticed how Kenma's red t-shirt drooped around his collarbones. There was a hollowness to his cheeks. The skin of his face was sallow, save for his rubbed-raw nose.

Kuroo frowned. “Are you eating?” he asked. Kenma paused, then nodded. Kuroo’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t lie to me.”

“I’m eating.”

“Like a normal person or like a Kenma?”

His silence was answer enough. Kuroo set his jaw, biting his tongue to stop himself from lecturing. He made his way over to the bed, crouching down so that he and Kenma were at eye-level. He slid his hands over Kenma's, cringing at how dry and cracked they were. He turned the palms up, taking in all the callouses, noting which ones matched his own. They weren't the most modelesque hands in the world, but Kuroo thought they were perfect. Did Kenma look at these perfect hands and hate them? Did he curse them because they belonged to a body he didn’t recognize?

“I don’t know what it is,” Kenma began again, and Kuroo looked up, nodding his encouragement. “But I’m so tired… It's exhausting to – I...” A crack in his voice ended the conversation. Kenma’s face was hidden behind curtains of black and blond hair. Stuttered breaths blew strands into Kuroo's forehead. The tap of something wet and warm pulled his attention down to his wrists. A murky mix of salt and water plunked stripes across his palms. It pooled in his cupped hands.

Long bangs were glued to Kenma's face. They fell into his open mouth when he hiccuped, spit coating them in a murky film. He spat them out over and over, coughing when they got in the way of his breaths. He was choking, red-faced and gasping for air. Kuroo relinquished his grasp, going to brush them away, but was stopped short. “Don’t look,” Kenma pleaded, arms raised protectively over his face.

“Like you’ve never seen me cry. C’mon, it’s just me.”

Kuroo took hold of his shaking wrists. Careful but firm, he lowered them to his lap. Kenma's hacking sob jammed a knife between Kuroo’s ribs. He ignored the burning behind his eyes and used the backs of his fingers to tuck Kenma’s bangs behind his ear.

Those golden eyes, always so cautious and attentive, were blurred and glazed in red. The tears zig-zagged down his face, blending with snot and saliva on their way. Kuroo tried to catch as many as he could, but they still left crusted tracks upon Kenma’s cheeks.

“I huh-hate it,” Kenma whimpered. “I don’t know wha-what I’m supposed to d-do.”

Kuroo didn’t either. He wished with every bit of his soul that he did. The all-consuming helplessness was the most suffocating thing he had ever known. It was like a knife-wound opened for so long, no one even thought to treat it until it festered and bled. 

If they did remove it, if they found some way to draw it back out, could the wound heal? If Kenma wrapped those thin fingers around the hilt, Kuroo could coax him through the pain, hold his hand when the knife scraped his bones. He could crack jokes so Kenma wouldn’t notice if his flesh tore and blood stained his favorite shirt. He could press cloth over the wound until it stopped bleeding. He’d stitch it up with red string.

“Does it hurt?” The words slipped from Kuroo’s mouth. He slapped a hand to his forehead, replaying the sentence over and over in his mind – _what kind of answer would that even warrant?_ He had never felt so dumb and so utterly useless in his entire life.

“Yeah, but I don't know if I can explain–”

“You don’t have to,” Kuroo said quickly. “I believe you. I’m not gonna make you explain anything you don’t want to.” Kenma’s slight nod allowed Kuroo to relieve himself of some panic. The only sound was a spam call to Kenma's phone, the ringtone echoing the 8-bit tune from earlier.

_Oh._

After a pause, Kuroo asked, “Is your avatar a girl?”

Another tiny nod from Kenma.

“Can I see her?”

Kenma's head popped off of his knees. 

“Really?”

“Duh. I wanna see what I’ve been missing.”

Kenma’s expression softened, a playfulness at the tugging up the corners of his lips. Kuroo wished he could smile like that – all cute and unassuming. His grins gave off the impression he had slipped something nasty into your food when you weren't looking. Kenma reached into the tangled covers beside him and picked up his phone.

The return of the 8-bit tune filled Kuroo with anxiety so familiar it felt nostalgic.

“She’s a mage, so that’s why she has a staff,” Kenma explained, handing the phone to Kuroo with utmost care. Kuroo examined the tiny anime girl in his hands. Her aloof stance and matte black hair reminded Kuroo of the Kenma he befriended ten years ago – though this version lacked the third dimension.

“She looks like you,” Kuroo hummed, passing the phone back into Kenma's eager hands.

“That’s the idea.”

“I think she went through Sayaka’s stuff though. Pretty sure she has that exact dress.”

There was a squeak and Kuroo whipped his head around, searching for a mouse. Instead, he found Kenma, blushing furiously with a hand slapped over his mouth. On a normal day, Kuroo would have cackled. It was such a rare beauty, startled Kenma. Especially when he startled himself. But today Kuroo was too busy taking a mental snapshot of Kenma's pupils wide and lids pulled back, bright despite his blotchy, tear-stained skin.

“Do you want to try it on?” Kuroo asked. “It might fit since you’re both pretty small – not a good thing though. You need to eat more.”

Kenma looked vaguely guilty, dropped into an unreadable silence. Kuroo couldn't tell if he was contemplating or just not wanting to answer. _Maybe he had overstepped…_ He opened his mouth to ask, but Kenma spoke first.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

—

Sayaka’s things were littered all about the guest room, suitcases half-unpacked, and miscellaneous garments dangling from the bedpost. Kuroo was painfully aware of how this would look if they were caught – two (assumed) boys sneaking through a girl's room, stealing her clothes. He pinched his nose bridge, willing himself to think of anything else. Kenma was standing awkwardly in front of the closed door, actively avoiding eye-contact with the pile of bras and underwear stacked by his feet.

“Don’t just stand there,” Kuroo barked, flashing a toothy grin. “Come claim that elf outfit.”

“Mage,” Kenma corrected. He shuffled over to where Kuroo was kneeling. “If it’s a nice dress, she probably hung it up. So it didn’t wrinkle.”

“Oh thank fuck, dude,” Kuroo groaned, graciously freeing his hands from a black hole of lace. He faltered, replaying his words. “I just called you ‘dude,’ didn’t I?”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” Kuroo’s tone was firm. “Stop being nice. If you’re unhappy with something, tell me so I can change it. Do you like, uh, like 'chick,' or – uh, 'sister?' Okay, those are shit suggestions but you get the point."

Kenma froze, shoulders drawn up by his ears again. He glanced behind him, as though checking that the door really was closed. He gave his index finger a gentle tug. “I’m not sure what else to call myself,” he admitted. “Saying I'm a girl feels too decisive, at least right now.”

“Hmm, curious. Something in between, then.” Kuroo tapped a finger to his chin as he thought. “'Comrade,’” he said definitively.

“No.”

“‘The Better Setter.’”

“Absolutely not.”

"'Munchkin.'"

"Why?" 

“'Cuz you're short. 'Partner?’”

“Are we married?”

“Are we not?”

Kenma huffed. His non-answer was much appreciated by Kuroo.

“But seriously,” he continued. “You're doing the thing.”

"The thing?"

"Not saying what you want because you think I'm gonna reject you. Cut that out, I can tell when you're holding back." 

Kenma tugged at his middle finger, then his ring finger. “‘They,' I guess.”

"Use it in a sentence."

"They walked to the store." 

“Right-on!” Kuroo punched the air, long arms nearly scraping the ceiling. He winced at the pain in his side – stupid soreness. He released his pose and slapped Kenma between the shoulder blades. “Plus, now you’ll sound like a god, one of those multi-headed ones.”

“That sounds more like a Hydra.”

“Even better.”

The closet was indeed full of dresses, all nicely unwrinkled, just as Kenma had predicted. Kuroo whistled as he flicked through the hangers, Kenma right by his side, eyeing each with rapt attention. They had nearly reached the end when Kuroo felt a sudden tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see Kenma pointing at the fourth-to-last hanger where a sweet, A-line silhouette swayed from two pink straps. Kuroo it off, perhaps a little too eagerly, since the wire hanger bent and sprung from the rack as well.

“Ta-da!” he sing-songed, holding the dress up for Kenma to see.

Kenma reached out to run their thin fingers across the smooth, pink fabric. They cradled it close, like a baby bird – too fragile and yet too precious. Their chin trembled and they licked away at the tears that dripped down into chapped lips – lips which mouthed, “Thank you,” fingernails burrowing into folds of pastel.

“Of course,” Kuroo whispered and mussed up Kenma’s hair with a loving hand.

Waiting for Kenma to change was much more stressful than Kuroo had expected. He blamed Sayaka's lack of organizational skills. He had to put in active energy to focus on anything except that obtrusive mound of undergarments. It wasn’t out of any twisted perversion – girls were not typically his flavor, especially not girls he was _related_ to – he just didn’t know how _not_ to look at it. Who left their shit all over the floor like that?

“I’m done.”

It was shocking Kuroo’s neck didn’t snap given how fast he turned toward the door. Kenma stepped out, hand tentative upon the handle, and immediately Kuroo felt as though he had been reborn.

Their hips were perfectly accentuated by the dress. A belt wrapped snugly around their middle gave the impression of a high waist, below which the skirt flared out like the full bloom of spring. Fabric cascaded into perfect pleats that stopped just above the ankle. When they shifted from foot to foot, tulle ruffles peek-a-booed from beneath the satin trim.

Then, they stepped entirely out from behind the door and Kuroo caught sight of their legs. Calf muscles carved canals down to a point at their thin Achilles tendon – a detail that inexplicably sent Kuroo reeling into the fifth dimension.

“Is it okay?” Kenma asked. _More than okay,_ Kuroo wanted to say, imagination roving along their lean musculature. It was only after he had mentally explored the full length of Kenma’s right arm that he realized he never answered the question.

He grabbed the first word that came to mind. “Hella.”

 _What the fuck_!?

Kenma appeared far more confused than flattered. “Thanks?”

 _Stupid. You’re stupid,_ Kuroo told himself.

“Do uh– how do you like it?” Kuroo asked, recovering from the previous outburst. “Is it comfortable?”

“It’s scratchy, but I do like the way it looks. Mostly...”

"What's mostly?"

Kenma fidgeted with the strap. “It’s loose around the chest.”

Kuroo cocked his head – he hadn’t even noticed. Now he could see the bit of slack below the collar, but it almost looked intentional. Kenma plucked at it, nose wrinkled at the gap between fabric and skin.

“Hey, stop that,” Kuroo said, taking Kenma’s wrist and drawing it away. “So it doesn’t fit perfect. That’s fine, it’s just not your size. You’ll find one that is.”

“I look like a boy in a dress.” Kenma's voice was on the verge of cracking. They jerked their arm back but Kuroo was stronger. He clung tightly to Kenma’s wrist, refusing to let them return to picking apart their appearance.

“No you don’t!” he insisted.

"Arm," Kenma winced. 

Kuroo hadn’t meant to squeeze Kenma so hard. He loosened his grip immediately and rubbed at the reddened skin with an apologetic thumb. “Sorry. But you don’t. And even if you did, it wouldn’t matter because you’re not a boy in a dress. You’re Kenma, wearing a dress, and looking damn good.”

Kuroo was rambling. Kenma observed him, cautious, curious. Their eyes traced a path over Kuroo's hands, wrapped tightly around their own. They scrutinized every callous, thumbprint, scratch, and scar like they would reveal some speck of dishonesty. At the end of their search, Kuroo met them with a locked gaze. _You know I never lie. Never to you_. Kenma's head dropped to their chest, hair obscuring their face once more. Kuroo waited with bated breath for Kenma to speak.

“If I wanted to go and look for another dress, would you come with me?”

All the wire and noise and thick stuffy air seemed to clear, and Kuroo found himself grinning. “Of course,” he replied, laughing softly as he ruffled Kenma’s hair. “That’s a silly question. I’d go anywhere with you.”

There was a moment during which Kenma’s face went entirely blank. Then, before Kuroo could ask what they were thinking, there were two arms wrapped around his middle. He looked down, not able to see much beyond the black roots of Kenma’s hair, scruffy from Kuroo’s messing with it.

Kenma burrowed their head into Kuroo’s shoulder, breaths warm and damp, even through his t-shirt. He scooped Kenma tighter into his embrace. A noise of contentment was muffled in his shirt. Once more, he began brushing his fingers through Kenma’s hair, humming softly as he did so. Kenma nuzzled in deeper, the fabric of their dress tickling Kuroo’s ankle. He laughed, or performed something akin to a laugh – it was hard to tell with his mouth and nose buried in Kenma’s fluff. The gym scent still clung to them, mingling with Sayaka’s floral perfume.

They could have stayed like that for hours, but it was also the middle of summer and Kenma was wearing a layered dress. Kenma relinquished the hug, Kuroo holding on for _just_ a bit longer. “I’m going to change now,” they mumbled into his chest, bringing their hands to his stomach and pushing out of his arms. They smoothed out the folds of the dress, wrinkled from the hug. “Scratchy,” they repeated.

“I’ll be here,” Kuroo said with a wave as Kenma retreated to the closet. Kenma allowed him the tiniest of smiles.

—

Back in Kuroo's room, both of them now in loose-fitting pajamas, the pair reassumed their natural positions. With each inhale, Kenma's back pressed gently into his stomach; with every exhale they sank deeper into Kuroo's body. In and out, rise and fall. The comforting rhythm lulled Kuroo into a drowsy state. He yawned, patting Kenma’s head to let them know he was about to drift off. Kenma hummed their acknowledgment. Kuroo reached over to the right side of his bed to grab an extra pillow.

Kenma wiggled against his torso, and Kuroo had the urge to grab them and squeeze them into his chest. It was tempting, though he knew the setter would certainly make him regret it the next practice. For now, this would be enough. Behind closed lids, downy cushions drowning out his surroundings, Kuroo was greeted with a mental image of Kenma wearing a pastel-pink dress – this time, with a pair of sensible heels and a long-brimmed hat.

He grinned – they had so much to explore together. Kuroo would be right by Kenma’s side the whole time. Ten years and counting, the one difference now being some pronouns and a questionable desire to interlace their fingers.

What a wonderful thing that was.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you're interested, I'd love to know what you think in the comments. It means so much, and I hope you enjoyed :) <3


End file.
